


Time Diamonds

by Sara_Ellison



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one based on a dream I had. I did a bit of editing to what my subconscious mind supplied, though, to give it a proper ending, or something like.

A madman with a box struggled away from a burning planet. The box, too, was burning, as was the madman. It wasn't the first time he had sacrificed his own life for the sake of another's; it wasn't even the first time he'd sacrificed himself to save the galaxy, nor would it be the last. But it had never hurt this much before.

He stumbled up from the depths of the ship. The ominous, far-more-familiar-than-he'd-like tolling of the cloister bell dogged his steps. It did not drown out the sound of the engines, which were beginning to phase. He needed to land, he knew, and leave the ship so that both of them could safely regenerate.

It hurt. It hurt so much. He made it to the console room and, through the glowing haze of regenerative energy, set the TARDIS on a course for the only other planet he would ever consider calling home. He would never set foot on his first home again. He couldn't remember regeneration ever hurting this much. Seven times before, he'd died and been reborn. This time he almost didn't want to.

The TARDIS landed and the Doctor staggered out into a London alleyway, the restorative swirling golden glow blinding him. He fell to his knees. The impact with the pavement stung, barely felt through the burning pain. He was dying. He shut his eyes and wished all his memories of the Last Great Time War could die with him. Involuntarily his head snapped back as the final spasm of regeneration overtook him, surging in fiery streams from his limbs and erupting from his head, as the flames had engulfed Gallifrey and wiped out his people. Even so the throes of regeneration wiped out his body, transforming it into something wholly new and fresh, yet still with 900 years of memories to bear.

He was shaking. Behind him, the TARDIS dematerialized, engaged in its own restorative cycle. It would be back, he knew, with a clean face as new as his own. He raised trembling hands, touched his own head, examining. Close-cropped hair, a bit of a disappointment--he'd rather liked wearing it long. Ears...oh, dear. He'd have to find a mirror soon.

His hearts were still pounding, but he stood, glancing back at where his TARDIS had dematerialized. It had obscured the entrance to the alleyway, but now he had a clear view to the street beyond where a scarlet bus stopped, blocking the alley, and a man stepped off.

He was tall and thin with a shock of dark hair, wearing a blue suit and tie. He looked directly at the Doctor and raised his hand, in which was a sheet of paper. The Doctor, curious, stepped forward with his hand outstretched to take the paper, but the other man flinched. "Careful," he said.

The Doctor frowned. "I won't touch you," he offered, and that seemed to be enough because the other man held out the paper again. The Doctor took it, careful not to let his fingers touch the mysterious man's, and scanned it. 

It was written in TARDIS-blue ink and addressed to him. The handwriting was a hurried scrawl, uneven and stressed.

When the Doctor looked up again, the other man was gone. He sprinted out of the alley and looked up and down the street, but could find no sign of him. He moved to the nearest streetlight, rereading the note. If that really had been his future self, it had been enormously dangerous for him to cross his own timeline this way. This object, whatever it was, had to be vital to the survival of humanity. "Stupid apes," he muttered aloud. "I'll never get done saving you."

The postscripts were perplexing. He studied the "o" in "Rose"; it looked like the other Doctor's hand had wobbled near the top of the letter. None of the other "o"s had the same flaw; if anything, they were formed in the opposite fashion. The second postscript...well, that was just unsettling all around.

 

Six years and a universe away, I clung by my fingertips to the bottom of a grated catwalk, my knees hooked over a support bar, praying that the man pacing directly above me would neither glance down nor step on my fingers with his practical, government-acceptable shoes. Beside me, clinging in similar fashion, my beloved, steadfast partner in crime unhooked his pinky finger from the grating and stretched it toward mine. I did likewise; as our little fingers linked, I met his eyes and grinned.

Above us, a sudden change in the pattern of the man's pacing arrested our attention. At the end of the catwalk a second man stepped from the shadows. From my precarious position, his face was obscured by the shadows and the grating, but the first man seemed to recognize him.

"Murphy! Glad you made it," he said, with a distinctive American accent. He didn't sound particularly glad.

"I didn't come here for small talk, Delaware," the second man responded. "Have you got it?"

"Now, I wouldn't call you all the way out here for nothing. Of course I've got it," Delaware told him. He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. It bulged with contents unknown. The second man, Murphy, took it and peered inside, then gave a satisfied sniff and handed Delaware a small plastic bag. Delaware turned away to examine it, and Murphy disappeared once more into the shadows.

My companion drew my attention again with a tap of his pinky. _I'll get Murphy_ , he mouthed silently. _Meet you later._ I nodded, and he moved like a skinny, blue-suited spider along the bottom of the catwalk in the direction the other man had gone.

Above me, the man called Delaware tipped the contents of the plastic bag into his hand to examine them. I held my breath; if he just looked past his hand, I would be in his line of sight. Three small, yellowish capsule-shaped objects tumbled from the bag; two landed in his hand. "Damn!" he exclaimed, and moved back to peer at the floor below. In doing so, he set one of his feet firmly on the tips of my fingers. I couldn't suppress a hiss of pain, and his head snapped up, looking around for the source of the sound, then down again, scanning beneath the catwalk. Each time his eyes passed over me, his gaze seemed to slide away as though his vision were being diverted. I sent a silent message of gratitude after the Doctor for the effectiveness of his perception filter.

It occurred to me, rather too late, that even in the near-Silence I hadn't heard the third object hit the ground. I twisted around to look below me, and saw nothing of note. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a tall man in a dark leather jacket leaving the room.

Delaware seemed to give up the third object as lost, and left. I breathed, finally breathed as I hadn't for nearly fifteen minutes, not having to worry about being heard, and let go of the grating to hang by my knees. I caught the bar in my hands and swung free, then dropped to the ground and left the building.

Outside, the night was aglow with alien phosphorescent flora and fauna. A dirt track led away from the building; some distance along it, in a hollow beside the road we had made camp. The second moon had risen by the time I got back, and even in the beautiful extraterrestrial moonlight I could barely keep my eyes open. The air was warm, though, and the night too lovely to spend indoors. I dragged my bedroll out of the tent and laid it in the soft applegrass.

I was awoken not much later, judging by the movement of the moons. "Rose."

I smiled sleepily up at the Doctor. "Hmm?"

"Look."

I looked. My bedroll was covered in large moths, their bodies glowing soft blue, the color of the light on top of a 1960s police box. They gently folded and unfolded their wings. "Oh, they're beautiful," I whispered. The Doctor kissed the top of my head.

"We should be moving on," he said, and I sighed, reluctant to disturb the moths, but I gently shook them off my bedroll and broke camp.

As we headed up the road toward the faerie glen, I remembered the man I'd seen out of the corner of my eye. _Like a perception filter_ , I thought. I asked the Doctor, "Was that you?"

He looked pleased. "Was it?" A pause. "Yes, I remember now. It was."

"But how did you know?"

He took out a folded, yellowed piece of paper from his breast pocket. It was written in TARDIS blue. "I've had this for years," he said. "And only since half an hour ago, when I wrote it."

I gave him a sidelong look. "You know that sort of thing gives me a headache trying to work it out," I said, elbowing him gently.

"Wibbly-wobbly," he answered, grinning.

"So, did it work? Did you get all three? What are they, anyway?"

He gave a little skip, mid-stride. "Oh, Rose, you are not going to believe this," he exulted. "They're _time diamonds._ "

"And I suppose that's exactly what it sounds like," I remarked drily, but his giddy enthusiasm was contagious. "How'd that bloke Delaware get something like that? Who is he, anyway?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Canton Everett Delaware IV. I'm not sure how he got them, but we'll be sure to keep an eye on him."

"It worked, though, right? You got all three of the time diamonds?"

He chuckled. "The first time I put on this suit, the third one was in the pocket. I had no idea what it was, then. But now..." He pulled out two of the little yellow objects.

I looked at them in some confusion. "I thought you said you had all three."

"I activated the third one." He reached back into his pocket, and I saw what _time diamond_ meant--a dazzlingly brilliant stone, so beautiful it took my breath away. "I had it set," the Doctor continued, and it took me a moment to see what he meant, that the diamond was set atop a simple gold band, which he held at eye level from his position on one knee in front of me.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I pressed my fingers over my mouth, holding in the cry of joy that welled up within me. "Rose Tyler," the Doctor said, and stopped. The tears spilled over, and I, too, fell to my knees. The Doctor reached up with his other hand to brush the tears from my cheeks. "Does it need saying?" he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> And then I woke up.
> 
> Well, okay, not really. The bit starting with the catwalk and ending with walking toward the faerie glen was what I dreamed. I added in Murphy, because the story made more sense that way. (Lol, it makes sense at all?) I don't know what the yellow things really were, the dream didn't tell me. I added the bit with the letter because that was the only way it made sense for Nine to be there. I think perhaps in the dream, Rose and the Doctor already knew who Canton was and his significance. A few more notes:  
> -I wrote the first bit with never having seen any of Eight, so apologies if he's horribly out of character.  
> -I'm operating under the assumption that the Time War caused Eight's death and regeneration.  
> -The letter had to be then, because in "Rose" it's implied that Nine has only just regenerated, and any later he would have had Rose with him and that would have made things more complicated.  
> -IRL, I have a phobia of moths. I'm glad dream!me!Rose apparently doesn't.  
> -Yes, IV. Apparently, in the parallel universe, Canton III is *gasp* _not gay_. Or at least enough not-gay to have a son. I dunno, maybe he and his husband used a surrogate.  
>  -No, this time it doesn't need saying.


End file.
